


Dotted Line

by lumbeam



Series: Yank on my Yankton [2]
Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Angst, Blowjobs, M/M, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 13:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5457890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumbeam/pseuds/lumbeam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A continuation of "Fucking Disaster, Fucking Fantastic." Tensions rise between Michael and Trevor, and things get heated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dotted Line

It’s been about a month since a score, mostly because they have had to lay low from the jewelry heist. Trevor and Michael are staying in a seedy motel for a night or two, depending on how much money they have left. It’s about 9 p.m., and they pulled into the town about an hour ago. Michael lays out the remaining twenties and scarce fifties on the stained carpet, counting up the amount.

 "How much money we got?” Trevor asks from the bathroom. He’s carefully shaving off his scraggly beard.

“‘Bout two hundred bucks.” Michael grumbles back. 

"You fuckin' serious?! How much money have you been spending on hookers and strippers, Mikey?”

 Michael glares over at the bathroom even though he can’t see Trevor. "Oh, ‘bout as much as you’ve been spending on booze and drugs, _T_.” 

Trevor just scoffs and resumes shaving. 

Since there has been more of a need to "lay low," lots of downtime comes with it. With downtime comes boredom. To fill the boredom, they’ve been easy with their vices and their money. They forgo hotels for sleeping in their shitty getaway car, passing up on meals for lines of coke and cheap liquor, and rejecting human interaction for the warmth of call girls. This is the first time in about a week that they’ve decided upon an actual motel room. Even Trevor jumped at the opportunity to take a shower and get cleaned up. 

Michael gathers up the money and puts the measly stack on the end table. He walks to the bathroom and rests against the doorframe. Trevor has one of the ratty motel towels wrapped loosely around his hips. Michael hasn’t said anything, but Trevor has definitely lost weight as of late. It’s undoubtedly from the strict diet of drugs and insomnia. Hell, maybe Michael has too, but not enough to notice. His Wrangler jeans and old football shirts fit about the same as when their partnership first started.

 Trevor is done with shaving his face, which is spotted with blood from cuts and sores. He digs for a pair of rusty scissors in his duffle bag and starts to chop off his shaggy hair. Michael just watches. Trevor doesn’t even say anything with Michael watching him so intently. He just glances at him in the corner of his eye as he lobs off another lock of wet hair. 

Michael just clears his throat. "So, what should we do?”

Trevor glances at him in the mirror. "We fuckin' find another score. Sooner rather than later. What else would we fuckin' do?” 

 "Yeah, thanks, I hadn’t realized that." Michael says sarcastically. "We’ll scout the area tomorrow. What I mean is...what are we going to do tonight?”

 Trevor shrugs. "Got anything in mind?” A snip of the scissors.

 "T, can’t you just cut your hair over a wastebasket or something? Your hair is getting everywhere.”

 "Oh sorry _dad_ , I'll make sure to clean it up when I'm done.”

 Michael rolls his eyes and strolls out of the bathroom. 

 He lays on the bed and stares at the ceiling, his hands behind his head. He can hear snips from the bathroom. Eventually the faucet starts running again, along with the _kssshhht_ sound of a shaving cream bottle.

 Michael turns on the tv and finds the classic movie channel. The reception in the motel isn’t the best, but it’s good for background noise and something to hold his attention for awhile.

" _Fuck_! _Goddamnit_!” Trevor calls out from the bathroom.

"What is it?” 

" _Augh_ , nothing. Shaving your head is a lot harder than it seems.”

 Michael couldn’t help but laugh. He makes his way to the bathroom again. "You’re shaving your head? What, you gonna become a fuckin' skinhead?”

Trevor turns toward him. Shaving cream and blood is mixing into a pink concoction right at his hairline. He’s looking at Michael as if he wants to set him on fire. " _Nnnno_ , I'm shaving my head cause my hair has been driving me fuckin' crazy.”

Michael leaves the bathroom and searches through his duffel bag until he finds his trusty electric razor. His dad got it for him when he turned 18, when he was growing his hair out long and feathery like a Vinewood movie star. His dad didn’t even wrap the razor up as a gift. He just tossed it to him and grunted, "You’re starting to look like a fucking girl.” That was it. No "happy birthday.” Ever since then, Michael has maintained a crew cut. 

Michael goes back to the bathroom and Trevor is trying to clean up the blood on his jawline and his head. "Here,” Michael says, extending out his razor to him.

Trevor stares at it as if Michael is handing him a snake. "What do you want me to do with that?”

 "It’ll be easier to just buzz your hair. No cuts.”

 "Never used one…” Trevor said lowly. 

"Come on, T, you gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“I’m not! fucking sorry my ma never spent her hard earned money on me.”

Michael pinches the bridge of his nose. There’s no use in fighting over this. He gets a towel off the rack and throws it at Trevor. "Get the shaving cream out of your hair.”

Trevor starts to run the towel through his hair. Michael turns the razor on. 

 "Sit down.” Michael calls out over the _rrrrrr_ of the razor. 

Trevor sits on the toilet and Michael grabs his chin, tilting his head back. He gets Trevor’s side burns first and then drags the razor over his scalp. Hair falls over the towel draped around Trevor’s shoulders. Michael can see the scars of yesteryear all over his skin. He’s never really been this close to Trevor to notice the white scars on his face or his head. He moves his attention back to the task at hand and he finishes buzzing off Trevor’s damaged hair. His fingers slide over his scalp to make sure the cut is even. Trevor shakes his head as if he’s a dog after a bath. "All right all right, no need to be touchy!”

"I was just makin’ sure everything was even, T. _You’re welcome_.” 

Trevor gets up and looks at his hair (or lack thereof) in the mirror. He runs his scabbed hand over his scalp. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks.”

Trevor comes out of the bathroom all dressed a couple minutes later. He keeps touching his newly shorn scalp. "So...thought of any plans?”

Michael is reclining on the bed, passively watching the TV. He glances over at Trevor. "Well,” he sighs out, turning his gaze back to the television, "We don’t have much money and we’re scouting for a score tomorrow, so we might have to stay in for the night.” 

Trevor tilts his head back and groans. " _AUGH_ , that’s so fucking boring! I want to cause some mayhem! What do you suggest, going to a shitty convenience store, picking up a 24 pack of shitty beer and watching a shitty movie?”

 •••

Trevor bitterly sips his Natty Light. 

Michael comes back to the room with a few tapes in his arms. "All right, so the front desk had a few old movies. No pornos, though. I even asked.”

Trevor just glares at him and brings the beer back to his lips. 

Michael figures there’s no point in asking for his input. "Okay, let’s just go with this one. It’s from the 1950s, but—”

" _AUUUUGHHHHH_ ,” Trevor groans, slamming his beer on the end table, "What is this?! Let’s do something besides wasting away in this dungeon drinking shitty beer!”

Michael just glares back at him and shoves the tape into the VCR.

"Fine T, if you wanna risk going out and getting ID’d when we look for a place to get a score tomorrow, then be my fuckin' guest.” The opening theme to _Nelson in Naples_ plays in the background, filling the dead air between the two of them. Michael turns around to face the television as he cracks open one of his beers. 

Trevor finishes off his beer and sets it down on the end table and pockets the leftover score money while Michael’s back is turned. "That’s a risk I'm willing to take.” he throws on his beat up olive jacket before heading out the door without saying another word. Michael tries not to pay attention to the burning deep in his chest. He gulps down his beer to wash away the feeling. 

•••

_Nelson in Naples_ is drawing to a close. In that amount of time, Michael has put a considerable dent in the cheap beer. He’s pretty well past buzzed, and he’s deciding whether or not he should drink any more. He knows that his inebriation is due to Trevor going out for the night. Michael shouldn’t care, he’s a grown man. Well, sort of a grown man. Why should he have to babysit him? Nothing will happen. 

Michael throws caution to the wind and cracks open another beer, which he guzzles down. It’s around 11:30. _T’s probably just out at a bar or somethin’. Just washing away his sorrows. Maybe he met a girl. Maybe he’s killing someone. Maybe he’s getting something to eat, and he fuckin’ needs it._ The movie’s credits are rolling now. Michael ejects the tape and finishes off his beer. He goes in the bathroom because god help him if the beer hasn’t gone straight through him. He’s a little uneasy in standing at the toilet, but he manages to keep his piss stream in the toilet bowl. He shakes his dick of any stray urine drops and flushes the toilet.

He looks around the bathroom, already trashed and dirty. Granted, the two of them did have to scrub off a thick layer of week-old grime. He looks at the sink, riddled with Trevor’s hair clippings. _He said he’d clean it up, the fuckin' liar._ For half a second he thinks of cleaning it up, but decides against it because he’s not Trevor’s damn mother. 

He collapses on one of the beds. He’s not tired so much as it’s hard to stand up. He clumsily kicks off his pants and peels off his shirt. He stares up at the ceiling and tries not to think about Trevor and if he’s okay. He rubs his eyes until he can see stars. _Stop it. He’s fine. There’s no need to be worried._ Michael flips through the channels before eventually settling on some basic cable drama. He watches it until he falls asleep from boredom.

•••

Michael is woken up a few hours later by someone stumbling in the room.

Still half drunk, he fumbles to reach for his pistol, pointing it at whomever just barged into the room. He turns off the safety. 

"Well fuckin' _excuuuuuse_ me.” Trevor slurs out. "Is this how you greet all your friends? By pointing a fuckin' gun at them?” 

Michael sighs in relief and turns on the lamp on the end table, momentarily blinding him. He clicks the safety back on and sets his gun on the end table. Trevor is standing at the foot of his bed, fucked up on something. There’s gauze wrapped around his neck. 

"What are you...what time is it?” Michael rubs at his eyes, trying to focus.

" _Oooonly_ 3 a.m., sleeping beauty.” he takes off his jacket. There’s blood on his shirt.

"Where have you been?”

" _Ohhh_ I've been wherever the town wanted me to be.” Michael’s not up for dumb games, so he ignores it.

Michael looks at his gauze-wrapped neck. "The fuck’s up with your neck?”

"Ooh, that’s right! I'd _loovve_ to show you but I have to wait a few hours.”

Michael narrows his eyes. "Did you get a fuckin' tattoo?”

" _Brilliant_ deduction, Sherlock! Managed to find a place that would be willing to tattoo me this late at night. Granted, it was in an alley, but —”  

"T, that’s so fuckin' dangerous —”

"What’s really dangerous s’that Jeremy the tattoo maestro wouldn’t do a package deal of drugs and a tattoo for a discount. Dangerous for him, anyway.”

Michael stares him down. "T...did you kill him?”

"No! Well, maybe.”

“‘ _Maybe_?!’”

"I beat him, but I didn’t stick around to see if he survived, ‘kay?”

"Shit, T —” Michael hides his face in his hands. 

"Well if makes you feel any better, he had it coming _if_ he did die. However, I bought the best tattoo and combination of drugs two hundred bucks could buy.” Trevor is taking off his boots. 

 That wakes him up completely. Michael pulls his hands away from his face. "What did you just say?” 

Trevor sits over on his bed. "What?”

"How much did you fuckin' pay for that?”

He pauses. "Two hundred.”

"How the fuck did you get that money, _T_?” 

"It was on the end table.” He gestures right to it before falling back on the other bed.

Michael stands up. "You fuckin' spent the rest of the score?”

"Oh, so if I spend money on myself it’s the end of the world, but if you do it it’s hunky doory?”

"I spent my money on the beer, not money meant to for gas, food, motels—”

"We’ll find a score tomorrow! I found a few places that we could—”

Michael grabs at Trevor’s shirt collar and lifts him up off the bed. "But what if we fuckin' don’t? What if there is nowhere to rob? What if someone IDs you?! How could you be so fucking stupid?!”

Trevor rolls his eyes. "Relaaax, M. You’re being so fucking dramatic—”

And that’s when Michael punches T right on the nose. There’s a cracking sound. 

"AGH! What the fuck, M?” blood is starting to drip out of Trevor’s nose, mixing with the dried blood on his shirt. 

"S’what you get for everything you’ve done tonight. I can’t believe you.”

Trevor leaps off of the bed and tackles Michael, pushing him back on the other bed.

"Like you wouldn’t have done that? You’re such a hypocrite, Mikey. A fuckin' liar.” Trevor breathes out of his nose, spilling blood on Michael’s face.

Michael grimaces. He wraps his hands around Trevor’s neck. He starts to squeeze. 

" _Do it_ , go on. Strangle me. Fuckin' kill me, Mikey.” he coughs out. Trevor is smirking back at Michael, whose eyes are all fire.

Michael, for a split second, considers it. He could just do it and be just as good on his own. His hands relax around his neck. They move down to Trevor’s collar.

Trevor is pretty much straddling him. He’s dangerously close to Michael’s face. "Don’t have the fucking guts to do it, I knew it.”

Michael grits his teeth. He brings Trevor ever closer on top of him. There are so many things he wants to say, wants to do. He wants to destroy Trevor for fucking up the night and possibly the yet-undecided score for tomorrow. He stares at Trevor, who is still wearing the same grin on his face. Against his better judgement, he presses his lips against Trevor’s. It’s passionless; simply a way of posturing and a way to wipe that fucking grin off of Trevor’s face through shocking him. Michael’s hands on either side of Trevor’s face, holding him there in a vice-like grip. 

After some time passes, Michael pulls Trevor off of him.

They look at each other for a beat. Trevor is the first to speak. "The fuck was that? We playin’ gay chicken or something?”

Michael shoves Trevor off of him. "No! Just trying to get you off of me!” 

"Ah-ha, _allll right_. Sure. If that were true, you’d probably hate if I did this.” Trevor takes off his shirt and one of his hands snake around the back of Michael’s head, pressing him firmly back into a kiss.

Michael freezes for a second, and he grunts into Trevor’s mouth. Trevor opens up his mouth, forcing his tongue into Michael’s mouth. It concerns Michael that he doesn’t immediately try to bite off Trevor’s tongue. Instead, his tongue tentatively presses back against his. He can taste the iron from Trevor’s blood. Trevor’s lips are chapped from the cold, which only serves as a reminder of who exactly Michael is kissing. 

It feels strange kissing Trevor, feeling rough hands and having a flat chest against his own. Michael really never had any sort of inclination for men. He’s seen a bunch of naked guys in the shower when he was on the football team, but it’s not like he looked at them in that way. When he’s with women, he doesn’t think about anyone else. Especially Trevor. It shouldn’t be like this. He shouldn’t be tongue wrestling with his running buddy and best friend, especially since he was going to strangle him just a few minutes before.

He _especially_ shouldn’t have a fucking hard on from this. And he cares less than he definitely should.

Trevor is pressing his body completely against Michael’s. One of his hands is slipping up Michael’s undershirt, dragging his nails along Michael’s stomach. Michael gasps into Trevor’s mouth. 

"You like that?” Trevor asks, breaking the kiss.

Michael breathes out a "yeah.” 

"Well then you’ll fucking _love_ this.”

And that’s when Trevor’s hand snakes down the waistband of Michael’s boxers. Michael groans into the nape of Trevor’s neck. " _Fuck_ ,” Michael moans out. 

Trevor is jerking him off roughly, but it still feels good. Michael is trying his hardest not to completely unravel from this.

"I'm still—fucking mad at y-you, T.” he sputters out.

Trevor just wraps his hand tighter around his cock, causing Michael to groan lowly.

His arms are wrapped around Trevor’s neck. His eyes are closed, desperately trying to think of someone else jacking him off. He comes up empty, only thinking of Trevor. A bitter taste overrides the feeling of the handjob. He grabs Trevor’s hand and pulls it off of his dick before adjusting himself back into his waistband.

"What is it?” Trevor asks him, eyes dark and hungry.

Michael pulls himself out from under Trevor’s weight and sits . "T…” he begins. The smirk on Trevor’s face is gone, only to be replaced with concern.

"We shouldn’t be doing this.” Michael says, averting his eyes from Trevor. 

Trevor rests back on the bed, legs folded under him. "And why the fuck not?”

"Cause I'm not fucking gay?”

"Cool! Neither am I.” Trevor replies quickly.

"T...you were just jerking me off. That’s pretty gay.”

Trevor laughs slightly. " _Ah-ha_ , and you were just allowing a guy to jack you off. Pot and kettle, Mikey.”

Michael sighs. "It’s just been a while. I—I got carried away. Haven’t had sex in like 5 days.”

"Well, Mikey, I haven’t fucked anyone since Missy.” Trevor says.

Michael scoffs. "Bull-fucking-shit. I've seen you with all sorts of women.”

"So? It doesn’t mean I fucked them!” Trevor says a bit defensively. 

"What, did you strike out with all of ‘em?” 

Trevor shoots him a look. "Mikey, come on. You know why.”

"T, I really don’t.” Trevor maintains the look on Michael. For a split second it seems that Trevor gets closer to him. 

"Yeah, ya do.” he smirks. He moves a millimeter closer to Michael. Michael scoots way back to the headboard. "Why would I not fuck anyone else besides the girl you fucked?”

“‘Cause you like my sloppy seconds?”

Trevor drops his head and laughs. "Yeah, okay, that’s why.” he says sarcastically. 

Michael knows why, but he decides to play dumb just in case there’s a sliver of hope that it isn’t that. "Fine, T. Why? I know you’re _dying_ to tell me.”

Trevor untucks his legs and starts to move closer to Michael. "Like you’re not _dying_ to know? You didn’t wonder what I saw in Missy? You never thought about the fact that I waited, counted the _minutes_ , until you were done with her so I could swoop in and take her into my room? You never thought about how Missy told me exactly how you fucked her? How I kissed and licked every part of her just to get a _taste_ of what you left on her? How I fulfilled a cheap imitation of what it’s like to be with you?” by the time Trevor is done with the words he’s been bottling up for an agonizingly long time, he’s once again an inch away from Michael. Michael hasn’t broke eye contact with him, and his hands are gripping the sheets. He swallows, eyes searching Trevor’s face. 

"What is it? Ya got nothin’ to say?” Trevor asks, trying to hide his anticipation. "Or are ya too fuckin' scared to do _anything_ ‘bout it, Townley?” Trevor’s hand makes its way over to Michael’s fist, grasping it. Michael realizes that Trevor’s in the palm of his hand. His eyes trail up to Trevor’s bloodshot eyes, and he puts his lips against his again.

He can feel Trevor freeze against him, his lips still tight against Michael’s. Michael holds Trevor’s wrists by his sides. His kiss is domineering and he holdsTrevor right in his place. Michael gets some iron taste in his mouth from Trevor’s dried blood. He slides down the bed and lies under Trevor. Trevor finally pulls away from Michael, panting. "Ya wanted me to do that? S’that what you wanted?” Michael asks, trying to keep his breath steady. 

Trevor laughs out against Michael’s collarbone. "Yeah.” Michael grabs Trevor’s jawline, forcing his eyes back onto his.

"You want this?” Michael asks, his voice low. He grabs Trevor’s hand and presses it over his cock, which is starting to get hard again.

Trevor’s hand grips over his cock. " _Yes_ ,” he moans out, starting to work his hand against it. Trevor starts to kiss along Michael’s face, but Michael pushes him down toward his cock.

"Show me how much you want it, then.” he dares. Trevor smirks and drags himself down Michael’s body, settling his mouth right over his boxers. Michael runs his head over Trevor’s buzzcut, reminding him how this strange night started. Trevor tongues the outline of Michael’s dick through his boxers before tugging them down.

"How long have you been wanting to do this?” Michael asks, resting his hands behind his head. 

Trevor doesn’t answer as he takes Michael into his mouth as soon as he can. Really, it serves as a response to Michael’s question. Michael’s hands drag over his face as he moans out. "Fuck, T! I thought you weren’t — _ah_!—fuckin' gay!”  

Trevor looks at Michael as he sucks his cock. "M’not.” he mumbles, but his mouth is full. 

 "Th—then how are you so _good_ —” Michael’s hands press on the back of Trevor’s skull. He pushes his head down too far onto his cock, causing Trevor to gag. He pulls Michael’s cock out of his mouth and coughs, a trail of saliva connecting the two of them. In his coughing, Trevor just shrugs instead of saying that he’s given many blowjobs in his life, usually in exchange for something else. Not much time passes between the end of Trevor’s coughing and Michael trying to guide his cock back into Trevor’s mouth. He complies.

Michael slowly exhales, his hands going to the back of Trevor’s head. "Holy shit,” he moans out, only half realizing he said it. "You sure you didn’t get any pointers from Missy?”

Trevor chuckles a little, breathing hot air against Michael’s skin. He takes Michael’s cock out of his mouth for a second. “‘m absolutely fuckin' sure.” he dives back down before Michael tries to do it for him. 

"God you’re so— _fuck_ —” Michael doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he drives Trevor’s head down as far as he can go on his cock. Trevor’s resisting a bit, but still submitting to him. For a split second, Michael wishes that Trevor still had his shaggy hair so that he could have something to hold onto. His hips buck up into Trevor’s mouth. He slips back into his fantasies, only focusing on the sensation rather than the person he’s experiencing it with. He digs his nails into Trevor’s scalp, and Trevor doesn’t shy away from the pain. 

Michael feels the typical heat in his belly. He’s getting close. He thrusts harder into Trevor’s mouth, and Trevor has his hands on Michael’s trembling thighs.

"I'm gonna— _gonna—_ ” is all Michael lets out before he cums with a loud groan. Trevor doesn’t pull away. He keeps his mouth down on him, swallowing his load. After Michael collects his bearings, he opens his eyes and looks down at Trevor. Panting and hungry, Trevor looks at him while he rests upon Michael’s lap. 

"So,” Trevor starts, putting his hand down his pants, "You wanna...return the favor?”

Michael sort of grimaces, putting his flaccid cock back into his boxers. "I guess.” he motions his hand in a "come here” motion and Trevor crawls up the bed and lays right next to him. Michael slips his hand down Trevor’s pants and grabs his cock. He’s already hard, but he’s probably been hard for hours. As soon as Michael puts his hands on him, Trevor moans out and rests his head on the nape of his neck. His gauze rubs against Michael’s shoulder. Trevor reaches his hands down to his fly in an attempt to get more comfortable. "No, no.” Michael whispers, tightening his hand around Trevor’s cock, "Don’t.” Trevor doesn’t take issue with it, mostly because he’s currently unraveling. 

Michael jerks Trevor off with increasing fervor, with Trevor trying to thrust into the motions. It isn’t much to go off of, but it’s enough for this late in the night. "Mikey,” Trevor moans out, and Michael shushes him, eyes closed. " _Fffuckk_ , I love you loveyouloveyou fu _CK_!” Trevor cums over Michael’s hand, which Michael immediately wipes off before pulling his hand out of his jeans.

"Doing the bare minimum, I see.” Trevor muses before kicking off his jeans. 

"Fuck off,” Michael groans. "And you’re not sleepin’ in my bed.” 

Trevor reaches over and gets the light. "Come on, are ya sayin' ya don’t like cuddling?”

Michael remains silent, which Trevor rolls his eyes at. 

"Well I'm fuckin' staying. Go on over to the other bed if you want.” Trevor curls up next to Michael like a cat. He doesn’t leave the bed. 

•••

Michael wakes up the next morning with the sun in his eyes and a pounding headache. He doesn’t remember drinking that much last night. Trevor’s arm is slung over him, with his skinny leg in between his own. He takes care not to wake him up as he slips out of bed. Making careful steps to the bathroom, he sees the pile of empty beer cans next to the tv. Michael doesn’t bother counting them. 

He shuts the bathroom door and looks at his reflection, which is pretty frightening. He looks just as shitty as he feels. He strips down and stumbles into the shower and makes the water as hot as he can. He scrubs his skin until the bar of soap he’s using is completely gone. The temperature jump from the cold bathroom to the scalding shower makes him light headed, and he ends up throwing up. Mostly what comes up is the shitty beer, but there’s also some bile. He feels like his head is going to explode. After scraping the vomit down the drain with his foot, he sits in the shower to collect his bearings. It feels like he stays in the shower for hours, but he doesn’t care. Thoughts of what happened last night keep bubbling up to the surface, which he forces back down. The less he thinks about it, the better.

Michael finally steps out of the shower and uses the last clean towel. Trevor’s hair is still all over the countertop, and Michael just brushes it into the wastebasket. 

He opens the bathroom door and searches for some aspirin in his duffle bag. "Hey Mikey,” Trevor says behind him, "How goes it?”

"Well,” Michael sighs, not turning around, "I threw up in the shower, so what do you think?”

" _Ohhh_ , one of those mornings.” Michael finds the pill bottle at the bottom of the bag. There’s two left.

"Yeah,” Michael says as he swallows the pills dry.

"Hey, uh,” Trevor starts, "About last night—”

And that’s when Michael turns around and looks at Trevor. He’s taking the gauze off, revealing the tattoo he got last night. The tattoo is a thin dotted line around his neck, and at his adam’s apple it says cut here. It’s exemplary of his sick sense of humor. 

"Yeah, I was...really drunk last night. I barely remember what happened.” Michael says, quick to lie.

Trevor stares at him for a moment, slightly crestfallen. "Oh yeah, me neither! ...I don’t even know what that tattoo guy gave me, but I was blitzed. Last night is just...” Trevor waves his hand away from him, “... _Whoosh_. Gone.”

"Good.” Michael says all too suddenly, clenching his jaw. He’s ready for this conversation to be over, even though he suspects Trevor doesn’t believe him. "We should probably go out scouting for a location.”

"Yeah, yeah, of course.” Trevor nods, suddenly taking an interest in only looking at his nail beds.

"Hey, T.” Michael says, and Trevor’s head shoots up. They share a look for a few seconds. Michael’s lips turn upwards. “...nice tattoo.”

Trevor gives a half-hearted smile. "Thanks. Been thinking about getting this for a while. Do you think it was worth the price tag?”

Michael thinks about what happened last night, which flash through his mind like a strobe light. He thinks about holding Trevor down, kissing Trevor, feeling Trevor’s mouth all over him. He also thinks about jerking Trevor off, punching Trevor, tasting his blood, and strangling Trevor. He finally makes a face and says, "Nah, not really.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Trevor flips him off before getting ready to look for a score. They leave their messy hotel room without saying another word.

 

**Author's Note:**

> (I should also say a huge thank you to ashamedbliss for reading to my many many anguished messages and also for encouragement!)


End file.
